Everything You Want
by awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: Sometimes everything you want comes from unexpected places. /or/ Four different people, two different stories, one simple result.
1. Chapter 1

**This story comes from an idea I've been toying with for months, but with a twist on my original thoughts. I like to think these two pieces are bittersweet, as life always is, but I'll leave that to you to decide. This is canon up to the end of season three, minus the six months later piece.**

* * *

"Daddy?"

Fitz looked up from his tablet, eyes taking in the small figure before him. Her toys were spread about on the carpet, the remnants of an epic Jedi battle. It made the corner of his mouth tick up.

"Yes, Spark?" He returned, watching the girl's nose scrunch at the nickname.

It was brief, only a second, before her face twisted into something . . . grimmer. His brow furrowed, watching what he knew was a thought process developing behind her eyes. Finally, she managed to string together her thoughts.

"Why don't I look like you?"

Fitz's breath caught in his throat. He coughed in an attempt to cover it, but he knew Mae had caught it anyway. She shot him a look that struck him painfully of her mother.

Before he had a chance to fully recover from what Jemma called his reboot phase, Mae plowed on.

"Mrs. Mahar was teaching us what genes are today," she said softly, her cheeks flushing. "She said that we look like our parents because of our genes. We're supposed to get half and half." Her brow furrowed deeper as she adjusted Ashoka's lightsaber in her lap. "But . . . I don't look like you or Mum,"

"Wh-" Fitz tried to start, but was cut off by the sudden tightness in this throat. "Why would you say that?"

"You have blue eyes and Mum has light brown. I have dark brown," she started, fingers still fidgeting. "You have light hair and Mum has light hair. Mine is dark. And my skin is dark. You're pasty,"

Fitz could feel a burn starting at the back of his eyes, but he blinked it away. _God, she sounds like her mother._

"You're right, Maesie." He sighed softly. The little girl looked up then, eyes dark as the day he'd first laid eyes on her. "Come 'ere,"

Mae dropped her action figure, standing to move towards Fitz's lap. Gently, he gathered her into his arms the same way he had since she was a baby, running a hand over her deep waves. She relaxed into his embrace, her eyes like the night as she looked up at him expectantly.

"I'm-" Fitz tried to start again before stopping. He cleared his throat. "I'm going to tell you a story, okay baby girl?"

Mae nodded against his chest, eyes still bright and expectant.

"Have you ever heard of SHIELD?"

* * *

When they're twenty nine, they're tired of wasting time.

Jemma says it herself, lying in bed. Her skin is bare and pressed against his, the heat shared beginning to cool in their bunk.

Fitz casts her a breathless smile, pressing a kiss to her lips. "So am I," he whispers, breath shared in the small gap between them. "But there's not much we can do about that, not yet,"

Jemma presses up to kiss him again. "But . . . But what if there was? What if we just . . ." She breathes out a wistful sigh. "What if we just ran away? The two of us, settled down, started a family . . ."

His heart leapt even as he stroked a stray strand of hair out of her face, studying her whiskey eyes. A fluttering started in his chest, something so erratic he wondered if Jemma could feel it thumping beneath his bare skin. "You-You'd want that? With me?"

She lets out a breathless little laugh. "Yes, of course. A homey little place in the hills, little curly haired children running about, trying to build anything they can think of,"

An impossible smile splits his face, and he brushes a finger along her cheek. "I can't imagine anything more perfect,"

"Neither can I," she breathes, kissing the thumb that strays across her lip. She shifts slightly, hooking a leg over his waist.

He rubs a hand down her side. "This might be crazy, we don't have a place or home . . ."

". . . But why not get started now?" She offers, smirking coyly. "After all, I am quite the expert on biology," she leans down to kiss him slowly, running the tip of her tongue along his lip. He moans, opening his mouth to allow her entrance. They enter a slow dance of sorts, their lips pushing and pulling against each other. She pulls back slowly, her hand seeking his as she rolls atop him. ". . . and conception could, possibly, take years,"

"I suppose," he bites out between kisses, voice breathy, "you could say we're not wasting any more time,"

She chuckles, but that soon descends into something much more pleasing to Fitz's ears.

* * *

They don't exactly start trying. But on the other hand, they don't try to stop it from happening either.

There's a false alarm around five months later, when Fitz returns from a day at the lab to find Jemma perched on the toilet, sullenly holding a negative test.

Her eyes are glassy when she looks up at him, but she tries to manage a brief smile. "I . . . I was late," she managed to get out, before promptly bursting into tears.

Fitz doesn't waste a second in grasping her gently and pulling her to his chest. The test drops from between her fingers, clattering against the linoleum, as her fingers instead curl in his shirt.

"Shh, it's okay, Jemma," he runs a hand down her shoulder blade, kissing her a handful of times in her light waves. "It's just a false alarm,"

She sniffs, not quite crying, but still having tears sliding down her cheeks nonetheless. "I just . . . I thought that maybe, _finally_ -"

Jemma can't bring herself to finish her sentence, instead burrowing her nose into his warm, relaxing scent. He smells of cologne and solder from the lab, mixed with a comforting musk that can only be named Fitz.

"I want a baby so bad it hurts, Fitz," she whispers, and he swears if it were possible his heart would break. "I know it's not the time or place, but if anything could be a reason to leave . . . this would be it. This would be our sign,"

He presses his eyes closed tightly, chest hurting. "I know, Jems. I know,"

* * *

They turn in their resignation exactly a week later.

Coulson doesn't seem surprised, and May even less so. Mack is the most surprised, if anyone. And even he greets the news with a nod and a somewhat knowing smile.

* * *

Jemma's heart aches as she packs her bags. She wants there to be boxes, somehow. Crates of cardboard, somehow to signify all the things that they'll be taking with them after nearly four years of this life. But sadly, memories only carry weight on the backs of their victims, and they are no exception.

She takes one last glance around their bunk, at the queen size bed, the tan stone walls. It wasn't much, but it was theirs. If anything, that counted for something.

It had to, didn't it?

* * *

He spends most of the drive to the airport thinking about Skye. It's Daisy now, he supposes. The reminder brings a twinge to his chest.

Yet as they walk, hand in hand into the terminal, a magazine reminds him that the girl doesn't have two names, but three.

And yet the world will only ever know her by one.

QUAKE STRIKES AGAIN, BRIDGE DEMOLISHED

Fitz's heart lurches, and he has to look away. They've come far from the three kids who stumbled onto a airplane, but this isn't what he'd envisioned.

Jemma catches him, squeezing his hand with that bittersweet smile she's perfected since the pod, and together they step into security.

She'll be okay. She'll be saved. But not by them.

* * *

Perthshire is expensive. But years of risking their lives and selling inventions has covered it, and as a result they settle into a quaint four bedroom cottage.

Jemma races him to the door from their rental car, and though she wins, he catches her at the threshold and sweeps her up to carry her over it.

Then they're kissing, and the door is closing, and clothes are being shed because they have a brand new house to christen.

* * *

Their bags don't make it past the foyer for the next day or so.

* * *

On the evening of day two, Jemma is tired of sleeping on the floor. She heads to town and returns with an air mattress and Chinese take out.

Fitz lights up when he sees her offerings. "Oh, thank god," he moans, grabbing the orange chicken.

Jemma raises an eyebrow at him, using her chopsticks to maneuver a dumpling into her mouth. "Are you saying you don't like my cooking?"

Fitz nearly chokes, but manages to swallow without too much trouble. "No, no. Never. You're excellent at barbecue,"

"Just not indoors?"

He cringes, tilting his head a bit to the side. "Yeah,"

She throws a rangoon at his head in response.

* * *

By the next morning, they still don't have a bed, but Jemma has picked up three separate cooking books and every utensil Fitz can imagine and then some.

* * *

Exactly one year later, their little cottage is truly a home.

Fitz wakes up every morning to a mouth of hair, but in a good way. He'll take a hairy mouth over an empty bed any day.

Jemma has dramatically improved her cooking skills. But regardless of the numerous classes she takes and the countless items she's perfected, none of them quite compare to their old tradition of pancakes.

Life is easy. While they have more than enough funds saved from Fitz's numerous inventions and the handful of articles Jemma's written to get them well into their aging years, they decide to take part time jobs at the tiny university in town.

It's easy work, but Jemma never fails to see the softness in Fitz's eyes as he helps kids with every little bit of the science class he teaches. It's happiness, far more than they ever could have mustered with SHIELD.

But there's a gap, and they both know it.

There is one empty bedroom sitting down the hall, collecting dust. It has a view of the tiny pond down the slope of the hill in the yard, with a tree just outside the window that would be perfect for a tire swing.

Another three months pass, and Jemma resignedly marks the tiny red dots in the corner of the calendar squares that show she's begun another cycle. It's something of a punch every time she awakens to it, a reminder that the thing she's wanted for awhile now is still beyond her reach.

So finally, after a long conversation, she decides to make the call to a clinic.

A week later, they're sitting in a office. The nurse opposite them is radiating a grimness the moment she enters, and Jemma doesn't need the confirmation to know what she's going to say.

* * *

She wants to scream.

It's not fair. But then, life never has been.

A life at SHIELD had taken its toll. There was too much extensive damage to her body, helped along by years of stress and months of malnutrition. Should she ever be able to conceive, it was unlikely the fetus would make it to the first trimester.

She doesn't have time for tears. Fitz makes love to her that night, perhaps more gentle than usual, but she can tell he's trying to cover his hurt. After all, it's not everyday your dream is broken in half along with a piece of your heart.

* * *

The days go by, the pain gets a little bit easier to manage.

Fitz throws himself back into his work, starting a second class for younger children who are interested in building. The day he comes home with five crates of Legos is one of the happiest she's seen him, and despite their inability to have their own children, she knows that this will remedy the pain somewhat.

* * *

It's around four weeks later when their lives shift.

Jemma is making tea in the kitchen, Fitz having decided to sleep in after working into the early hours of the morning on a project. She's just stirring a dab of honey into her mug when there's a pounding at the door.

Her brow furrows. They aren't expecting anyone, and visitors are near none around their somewhat secluded cottage. It's not as if she feels threatened. SHIELD is done for, their ties cut. It's been over a year.

She pads softly to the door, tea momentarily forgotten. There's no one at the door, but there's an oddly rounded shadow obscuring the glass near the doormat. Jemma frowns.

"Fitz?" She calls, curiosity turning into a somewhat mild sense of unease.

Ducking back to the bureau they keep in the foyer, she slips an ICER into her belt.

Taking a deep breath as she hears Fitz begin to roll out of bed, she cautiously opens the door.

Her breath catches in her throat, and she swears in that moment her heart skips a couple beats.

There's a pair of big, brown eyes staring up at her from a swaddle of blankets. A tiny fist clutches at the coverings.

"Oh my god," she breathes, when she can finally drag air back into her lungs.

She doesn't know quite how long she stays there, staring down at the tiny human like this is some bad rom com, but the next thing she knows, Fitz is wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

"Good morning, love," he murmurs into her ear, pressing a slow, warm kiss to her neck as he nuzzles it gently. "Wha-"

Whatever he's about to say, it leaves him instead in a rush as he lays eyes on the baby carrier. He freezes, hands stilling at her stomach.

It breaks her trance, and slowly she extricates herself from Fitz's arms to kneel. The baby gurgles at this, eyes lighting up at the new face. Jemma pulls in a shaky breath.

"Hello there, little one,"

* * *

Fitz doesn't need to read the letter to know who the babe's mother is. Daisy drips from every ounce of her, from the soft yet dark eyes, to the cheeky grin the baby feels the need to flash at their every movement.

Nevertheless, as Jemma gently lifts the baby from her carrier, Fitz pulls the note from the pin it's been attached with. He takes one last glance at Jemma, who is holding the babe with far too much joy and happiness. It makes his throat tighten. And then, he begins to read.

* * *

 _Dear Fitz and Jemma,_

 _I'm sorry. I know that's not enough, and it likely won't ever be for what I've done this past year or two, and not for what I'm about to say._

 _I don't think I should need to announce it, as you've found this letter, but this is Mae, my daughter. I haven't picked anything else out for a middle name, so I'll leave that to you. It wasn't as if it was important at the time anyway._

 _I think you already know what I'm asking of you. I feel beyond terrible doing this, but I don't see any other way. The last thing I can do for her is this: a home with people who will love her as unconditionally as they love each other._

 _I'm not coming back. I found the headquarters, and this will end whatever the hell it is I've been doing. The only downside is, I'm also sure it's going to end my life. There's no guarantee I'm making it out alive._

 _Please, just tell her I'm sorry and I love her. I never meant to be a piece of shit like, well, you know. Raise her like you're going to raise your own little geniuses, even if she's not going to be as rocket-scientist as your own kids._

 _Her father isn't going to be named. I think it's easier this way, because we're both going on this mission together. I think . . . one day, you'll figure it out. But for now, he loves her, possibly more than either of us can express._

 _I've arranged for monthly transfers to your bank accounts. It will be enough to get her through college, which she will, with hope she won't take after her parents. Her birth certificate is in the mailbox, because I'm scared it will be lost somehow. Apparently superheroes aren't too cool to use mailboxes after all._

 _She was born on March 19th of this year at three in the morning, because she's obviously bent on keeping me up all night. We think she weighed around seven pounds, but it's unclear because it's hard to weigh a baby using a bathroom scale. We know she was 23 inches, though, so there's that. Apparently her daddy isn't a complete fail of a midwife._

 _She loves purple. She's always grabbing for it. I don't know if that's relative information or not, but it's what I found out about her. She hates bows. She will only be quiet in the car with music. Stefani, of all things, too. I know I'm feeding her real food too early, but she loves bananas. I just wanted to feed her once, because now I know I won't get the chance. Her feet are like her favorite object ever._

 _I can't think of anything else to write except I'm sorry and I love both of you. You were my family, okay? That's not going to change until I can't breathe anymore. I want you to be happy and make babies and put a ring on it, Fitz, because I've apparently missed my chance at your wedding and if that's not wasting time, then I don't know what is. But please, above all, be happy, for me. You deserve it, truly, and I'm sorry if this kid is going to be a burden on that. But as I'm sure you can imagine, I couldn't put her in the system. So this is it, with you, as you live out the happiest days of your life._

 _With love and regrets,_

 _Daisy Johnson_

* * *

The letter is rough and choppy, but nonetheless Fitz can't help wiping away a tear. It was clear it was written quickly, and somehow that makes it worse. Whatever lead Daisy found, she had rushed to it quickly.

He turns his gaze instead to Jemma, who is rocking the baby - Mae - in her arms. The tiny thing stares up at her, Jemma with such a soft look of fondness it makes his heart ache that they'll never have a child of their own.

 _No._

The thought comes sudden, fierce. This baby is theirs now, and he'll be damned if he lets his best friend down. For now, she isn't his niece. She's his daughter, and he and Jemma are going to figure it out.

Fitz clears this throat, gently setting the note on the table. Jemma looks up at him, and he can see it in her eyes that she knows.

"She's . . . She's not coming back, is she?" she asks softly, and Fitz can only manage a nod for fear his throat might close completely.

Jemma's eyes scrunch shut, and Fitz can feel his heart aching. Wordlessly, she moves toward him, and he accepts little Mae as carefully as he can. She's wrapped in the blanket that had covered her carrier, which is a pale blue with tiny daisies printed all over it. He wants to smile, but the humor is lost on him.

Jemma finishes reading quickly, and when she dares to finally look up at him, her eyes are coated in a sheen of tears. Her lips press into a thin line, then a jagged one, and he can see the tears begin to leak out the corner of her eyes.

Fitz trades Mae to his left arm as best he can, using his free one to wrap around Jemma. She leans her head into his shoulder, her tears silent.

He holds her as best he can until Mae starts to fuss, and that seems to break Jemma out of her reverie. She wipes at her tears briefly with a knuckle before smiling down at Mae, gently taking her from Fitz's arms.

"We're gonna take good care of you, baby," she murmurs softly, brushing a finger over the wispy strands of near black hairs on her head. "Just like your mama took care of us,"

* * *

 **I'm not sure when the next piece will be up, but it should be soon. Let me know what you think, if you are so inclined. This is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.**

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 **Instagram - WhenTheSkyeQuakes**


	2. Chapter 2

**The soundtrack for this chapter is The Balcony Scene by Pierce The Veil.**

* * *

"Are you almost ready?"

Daisy hesitates in her writing, pen partway to the paper. Sighing, but not looking up, she nods.

"Yeah. Just a minute and I'll be right down,"

She watches his shadow walk away, too engrossed in her feelings to bring her eyes to his leather jacket. It hurts, almost. It pains her to think of what they're about to do, and what they're about to ruin.

Daisy Johnson never wanted this.

Daisy Johnson never saw herself as a mother, let alone a somewhat decent one, if she is to be a bit boastful. She never saw herself singing old Beatles and No Doubt songs to a baby in the middle of the night. She never saw herself changing diapers, or warming bottles, or always having the worry that someone's tiny toes were cold. These are things that a mother would do, and that is one thing she never planned.

Of course, life is never planned. And most certainly not when this life gave you abilities, and a tac team on your tail. Add a baby into the mix, and that makes it all the easier and all the harder to be found.

Daisy bites her lip, willing the tears not to fall as she hastily scribbles the rest of her letter. It hurts that one day, the tiny being in the carrier next to her will only have this - a rough letter with her mother's name and excuses.

Trying hard not to allow the tears to escape her eyes, she takes the pin and sticks it and the letter into the fabric canopy of the car seat.

Mae gurgles up at her, eyes bright. Daisy chokes back what might have been a sob and lifts the carrier. She can't face her, not right now. Not when she's so trusting and innocent with no idea of what's to come.

She hurries down the steps of the inn they've been staying at. In the parking lot, she sees Robbie has started the car.

Daisy offers him a smile as she nears, and he jumps up from the hood of his car to take the carrier from her. As he grasps it, his fingers ever so gently brush hers, and that's all it takes for the tears to fully fall.

She brushes them away quickly. It won't do to cry. Because knowing Mae she'll catch on to the negative emotions and then she'll be in a fussy mood for the rest of the day.

But Robbie doesn't need to see her to know what she's feeling. As soon as Mae is safely strapped into the port in the back seat, he gently shuts the door before reaching to cradle her chin.

She doesn't meet his eyes at first, instead choosing to study the pattern on his jacket, but she can only resist for so long.

His eyes are dark, but all the same they hold warmth and reverence. It's reassuring, comforting, despite the knowledge of what they're about to do to the little life strapped into the back of the charger.

"It'll be okay, love," he whispers, and she breaks from his gentle hold on her to wrap her arms around him tightly. He holds her gently, a quiet anchor to remind her that even if Mae isn't directly with them any longer, he will be.

He'll be there with her til the end.

* * *

When Lincoln dies, it's as if the air has been torn from her lungs and her heart from her chest. To say she's shocked is an understatement. She just watched a man die for her, all because of her own mistakes.

Daisy doesn't remember much after that. What she does remember, however, is the aching maw in her chest. The guilt pounding against her ribcage with the strength of her heart. She remembers the raw cut like a blade running through her belly. But later on, laying in her bunk with no recollection of how she got there, she'll remember that this isn't anyone's fault but her own. She'll remember it wasn't an attack that cut her so deep, but a suicide blade.

* * *

It's a Thursday when he's lowered into the ground.

She likes to think its him, anyhow. But her mind knows better - knows that his remains are floating among the stars. It's almost more of a fitting burial than this, with earth and sod and over cheerful birds.

* * *

Daisy doesn't make a point to return to base. Instead, while everyone else is quietly filing to the cars that will take them to the Quinjets hidden in the fields, she slips away.

It's easier than one might think. The only people who will miss her are too preoccupied. Coulson solemnly walking beside May. Mack gently holding Elena's hand. And _God,_ she's waited so long to see them happy, but looking at Fitz wrapping an arm around Jemma as he presses a reassuring kiss to her temple . . . It hurts.

She's so goddamn broken it hurts to see others trying to heal.

* * *

The road she decides upon leads through a twisty trail into the forest. It's both peaceful and reflecting of her thoughts all at once. The air is charged with a turbulence that doesn't ever seem to strike, rather loom. It's a good metaphor for her mood, she supposes.

Her chest seems to grow heavier with every step. Because with every footfall she can hear his heartbeat as she sleeps. She remembers laying against his chest in the dark, his breathing chasing away the nightmares. The steady rhythm beneath his skin.

But now she knows there is no drum beat left, and that is perhaps the worst.

* * *

Daisy eventually finds herself in a small sleepy town. She supposed she should have expected it. After all, this is Montana. Small towns are truthfully abundant, if far apart.

She slips quietly through the streets until she finds the motel. The woman at the counter is too engrossed in her magazine to pay her much attention, like a cliché from an old movie. But Daisy doesn't care. She came here for quiet. This will do.

Her room is on the second floor, facing the East. She pulls the bottle of vodka she'd purchased earlier from the tiny liqueur store on the corner, and there she sits, facing the east, getting pissed, until the sun rises.

* * *

Her escape wasn't exactly planned. But it wasn't a spur of the moment occurrence, either.

Somehow, that morning, she just felt in her gut that their bunk couldn't go back to being just hers. She knew, in a way, that she wouldn't be coming back. It was too painful. Every little thing reminded her of him, from the socks she kept finding randomly to the little pendant he'd bought her. It was all too much.

She felt too much.

Daisy couldn't take any bags. None of these clothes could be hers any more. Each and every single one reminded her of him somehow, even if they weren't even his. The sweater that he said was his favorite. The dress she wore on their first date. The pajama set he'd surprised her with on Christmas.

It all felt wrong and out of place on her body. And that was when she knew these things didn't belong to her anymore.

She took her wallet and all of the cash she could find. These would work for now, she decided.

And the funeral came and went and she was on her own. No notes left in her wake, no indicators to where she went. Her phone's chip was gone.

Daisy Johnson had become a ghost.

* * *

Life after that night became a blur.

Her van was tracked down using a hard won laptop. It was sitting in a junk heap in California.

The money remaining in her pocket after a quick wardrobe purchase went towards a bus trip. In leather and boots, she boarded, a single backpack containing her computer and second change of clothing on her back.

It was strange. People shied away from her now, giving a wide berth. No one wanted to be next to someone so dark. In her old life it had been due to her abilities. Here, her clothing.

It should have unnerved her more, but it didn't. This was who she was. She had given up fitting into a society so plastic long ago.

* * *

Two days later, her bus arrives in Los Angeles. Daisy disembarks and simply starts walking.

She has no money left. Aside from the ten dollars she's crammed into her boot for food, and the credit card she's saving for an emergency, she hasn't any money left to spare.

The yard isn't too far. Only a handful of miles away, as if fate might actually be on her side for a change. But she doesn't dwell on the thought for long - thinking tends to complicate things.

The yard is abandoned. She takes this as her cue, scaling the fence before jogging to where she can see her old brown home sitting.

After so long, the keys still work. She allows herself a smile at this, and an even larger one at the fact the engine still starts. There's even half a tank of gas, and she sends a thankful prayer up to the god she doesn't believe in.

* * *

Months later, she's taking down the Watchdogs. Or, at least, she was.

She's just finishing quaking one into a wall, trying to block out the sound of his bones as he collided with the brick.

A yelp nearly leaves her throat at the tension that is placed on her own cracked and splintered wrists, but she managed to hold it in. Even as black swims in her vision, threatening to take her from the sharp pain to sleep, she fights it.

But then there's crashes and screaming, gunshots and clangs, and the warehouse lights swing overhead. There's the light and distant smell of smoke, and something floods her senses that makes her hairs stand on end.

The doors rattle again before bursting open, and what enters is one of the most terrifying sights Daisy has ever seen.

It's a man, or at least what once must have been a man. He's dressed something akin to what a biker might wear, from his dark jeans to his black leather jacket. But where his head should be is instead a skull, the bone bright white beneath livid orange flames.

She feels as if she should be more fearful. But she can't, because out of everything she's faced, she's not about to be taken down by a pile of bones.

Her arms raise, extended before her, and she tamps down on the urge to wince at the pressure it puts on her fractures. But before she can fire off a round of pulses, the skull suddenly stills.

Confused, she watches as he - for it doesn't seem feminine in nature - takes a cursory glance around the room. The burning orbs in its sockets come to rest on the bruised and bloodied bodies of the Watchdogs. His head tilts, almost as if in confusion, before he turns to spare her a glance.

Before she can move, he tips his head in her direction, as if to nod, and then he turns and exits the same way he'd entered.

Daisy doesn't hesitate but a second to follow, curious if a bit cautious. The passage has a faint glow up ahead, and as she turns the corner she can make out the flaming skull as he strides.

As he walks, flesh begins to creep up the back of the skull. Flames begin to extinguish. Daisy watches in horrified intrigue as the skull transforms into a man.

Before she can get to him, however, the man is exiting the warehouse. Daisy runs the remaining distance down the corridor, her arms aching with every footfall.

By the time she makes it to the night air, he's gone.

* * *

Her computer is weary by the time she puts it to rest that night. It's nearly five, so rather morning she finds, but nonetheless powers down and lays to rest.

There is nothing she can find online about a man who transforms into a demon.

* * *

Their next encounter is a little over three weeks later.

By this point Daisy hasn't ever expected to see him again, but there he is, taking down pieces of the street gangs that are in this part of the city. She feels a surge of relief that the pain of her fractured arms hadn't driven her to hallucinate that night.

His chains flicker with enflamed light as he whips them around, his victims burning. She can't bring herself to feel sorry for them. No one here is innocent - herself included.

But once more, the skull is gone before she can catch him. Truthfully, by this point, she's not sure if she wants to.

* * *

It's as if they're tied together by a silver string of fate. Wherever he goes, she seems to follow. Sometimes she helps him, sometimes he's already finished up. His targets revolve around any one of the mobs in this part of the city, and occasionally he'll head after a Watchdog faction. But regardless, he never wavers in one way - death.

He kills without regard. If they seem guilty, they're dead. Simple as that. It doesn't settle right with Daisy, but all the same it seems right.

Her internal arguments sometimes make her sick. When did she start wondering if people were better off dead? If they deserved it?

Her only consolation comes from the fact it's not her doing the executing. Then she wonders if it even matters, because she's always watching as they take their last breaths.

Is this what Lincoln would have wanted? With his oath to save and not surrender? Is she tainting his memory?

It doesn't matter. He's gone now. She's what's left.

* * *

Their relationship - if it can even be called that - takes a turn in the coolness of February. It's been nearly nine months since her abandonment of SHIELD. She doesn't know, like so many other things, if that hurts or not.

February in LA isn't cold, but it isn't precisely warm either. As a result she has her leather jacket, now worn and faded, and an old beanie pulled low over her cropped waves. She somehow feels like a YA novel protagonist.

But she pushes these thoughts out of her mind. She's on a mission. Her arms ache from the splits and fractures, but once more, she has a purpose. She can't be distracted.

But like so many other aspects of her life, it doesn't go according to plan.

She'd been caught by a security guard patrolling the warehouse, and just like that, she had found herself in a heated battle. Only a few spoken words into his mouthpiece, and the guard had a gang of members joining the brawl.

It didn't take long for Daisy to realize that this fight wasn't working in her favor. Her arms were in perhaps the worst shape yet, aching with every punch and screaming with every pulse she emitted. She tried resorting to kicks, but it became quickly clear she was outmanned.

The largest of the group managed a lucky blow, tossing her to the ground. Her ribs - one already busted from a few nights ago - yelped in protest. She fought the urge to verbally react.

Their kicks started landing, and soon it was all she could do to cover her head and hope for the best. Her arms were too weak, her powers drained.

And that was when he dropped in, head aflame and chains lit with an angry glow. It took a matter of minutes before her attackers' screams faded, and the man was kneeling over her.

She weakly raised her head, which was throbbing from a well placed blow. Skin was creeping back over the exposed skeleton, but Daisy wasn't there to witness the transformation. Her head slumped back to the concrete, unconscious.

* * *

The throbbing in her skull comes first. It's dull and painful, and she almost lets herself slip back into the dark bliss of sleep. But then she remembers the night before, and her dark eyes open to a fat slice of sunlight streaming over her covered body. A blanket covers her, soft and warm, as a single sparrow chirps outside the window.

Daisy jumps up, momentarily forgetting her broken rib. She lets out a grunt of pain, trying to lower herself lightly back into the bed. Her body protests with every movement.

Arms gently help her relax back against pillows that seemed to have suddenly appeared at her back, and she glances up into the face of a young man. He shoots her a fleeting smile, bordering scowl. "Easy, girl. You've got a hell of a concussion, and your arm's not exactly top shape either."

She frowns at him. He's obviously in no hurry to hurt her, but he doesn't seem the most elated to be helping her either. Nonetheless, he's obviously taken her home, and from the looks of things patched up her cuts and tried to splint her arm. She'll take it.

As she looks up into his face, a million thoughts race through her head. _Who are you? What am I doing here? Why did you save me?_ But she finds herself no closer to speaking than she has of sitting up. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts.

"You aren't always the hot head, huh?"

It comes out raspier than she'd anticipated, her throat hoarse, but it brings a faintly amused smile to his lips.

"I've been called lots of things, but I think this takes all," he chuckles, sitting back into what she now sees is a chair. "But yeah, you could say that. I'm not always him,"

"Him?" She asks, cocking a brow.

"The other guy, is what I believe Dr. Banner calls it," he grins. "But enough. You're hurt, and you need rest. Besides that, I don't always throw out my story till at least the second date,"

Daisy rolls her eyes. "Hold your horses, cowboy. I doubt we'll make it that far."

He chuckles again, rising. He returns to her line of vision with a bottle of water, which he passes to her. She savors the cool feeling extending into her palms. The bottle is drained in one go.

"My name's Daisy," she tacks on, screwing the cap back on. "Typically, when you save a girl, you at least let her get the name,"

He rolls his eyes. "Robbie,"

"What, no last name?" Daisy cocks her head smugly.

"Didn't catch yours, if that's what you mean," he retorts, a smug grin back in place.

It's Daisy's turn to roll her eyes. "Maybe I save that for the second date, too,"

"Yes," he shrugs. "But what a shame we won't make it that far,"

She glares at him. "Ha-ha. Very funny,"

"Thank you, I try," he stands, eyes scrutinizing her one last time. Then, he turns toward the doorway. "Let me know if you want some coffee or something. I haven't got much, but I've been told my quesadillas are acceptable."

"Shame. You were avoiding stereotypes so well,"

Robbie turns back in time to flip her the bird.

* * *

She does, of course take him up on his offer of food. It's a nice change of pace from the ramen and canned stuff she's been living on for God knows how long.

And truly, sitting at his tiny table in the corner, she wants to fear him. But there's a tiny bit of cheese and salsa stuck at the corner of his lip and, well, this isn't exactly what you'd expect from a paranormal vigilante. So they eat in a somewhat relaxed silence, exchanging banter about the things that don't matter, like which is the best market in this part of town, and who actually lets incapable drivers onto the road in the first place.

Daisy wants to feel uncomfortable, but she can't.

* * *

She leaves that night. He hasn't gone out avenging, or whatever the hell he calls what he does, and is instead passed out on the couch.

He doesn't stir as she turns the handle, letting herself out into the cool Los Angeles night. A breeze tickles her face, but she doesn't feel it against the stirring in her stomach that tells her she's doing something wrong.

* * *

A week later, they of course come crashing back into each other's lives.

It's the same as all their other meet ups, except it isn't. Now there's a new level of understanding that comes with it, one of unspoken expressions and careful avoidance. It's not of a romantic origin. It's simply the knowledge that they both have their demons, and neither are willing to divulge whatever those secrets are.

As the mission comes to a close, he nods and grins in her direction, the flesh already having creeped back around his skeleton. She offers a little acknowledgement of her own, and they're off on their separate ways.

* * *

But life isn't finished with them yet.

Her car breaks down soon after their last mission. It's nothing big, just that the AC is out, but in the heat of California, it's something that needs a fix.

She drives to the nearest shop. Daisy knows that this is the place from a single glance - stereotypes may be cruel, but such a shady looking place must not be tracking credit cards like a larger chain would.

The gravel drive crunches under tire as she pulls in, swinging out of the van without bothering to throw on the brake. She ducks under an open garage door, blinking to adjust for the light, and then locates the desk.

She heads toward it quickly, using her hair to hide her profile as has become habit. The teen working the desk pops his gum, barely looking up from his phone.

"My van's AC blew out," she doesn't bother with pleasantries. "I need a quick fix. Any idea how much?"

He hardly bothers meeting her eyes. "I'm not sure, chica. Not my area. I'd try Reyes - he's usually got more of a handle on things."

Daisy waits a moment more for him to elaborate, and when he doesn't, she sighs. "Okay, cool, well do you have any idea where I can find this Reyes?"

"Oh, yeah, last row," he makes a vague motion towards the last garage stall, and that's that.

She sighs inwardly, but instead begins the short trek across the expansive garage. "I'm looking for a Reyes?" Daisy calls out once she's close enough, poking around the cars and their many scattered guts.

There's a shuffling behind one of the scrap bins, and out steps the last person she'd ever expected to see.

He's clearly just a shocked as her, eyes widening, before covering with a somewhat boyish smirk. "Daisy,"

"How the _hell_ does this keep happening?" She nearly yelps, crossing her arms.

Robbie chuckles. "Fate, destiny -"

"Car problems,"

"Yes, that." He shrugs out of his jacket. "Among other things,"

She rolls her eyes. "Look, my AC blew out. Any chance you can fix it?"

"Of course," he looks at her, almost as if in disbelief he would doubt her. "Just lead the way,"

* * *

Robbie has it done in two hours, and in no time he's passing her back the keys and wiping oil from his finger tips.

She tries to pass him a wad of cash, but he shakes his head. "No, you're doing more good than you realize," he offers her a small smile. "Save it."

Daisy shoots him a glare, not moving the palmful of bills from where it's outstretched in front of her.

He sighs, pretending to consider it. "Well, if you're so certain, drinks are on you tonight. There's a bar down the street, might be a place for, you know, a second date,"

Daisy nearly does a double take. There's a surge of emotions that come in after the initial few seconds of shock, but the most powerful is disbelief. "Are you serious?"

His facade seems to momentarily crack, but instead he stuffs his hands in his pockets and sheepishly looks down at the ground. "I mean, yeah, a little. If you want to,"

She tries not to smile. Her heart still aches for Lincoln, and likely always will, but something tells her this man with the fiery skull just may make a good friend, a good ally.

She nods. "I'll meet you at six,"

* * *

Daisy doesn't spend time on her hair or make up. The dark eyeshadow she's had in place for a number of months now is enough. She doesn't dress up. There's no need. It's not really a date, right?

She arrives at six o'clock sharp, ordering a drink and taking a seat at a booth in a far corner. It has a good view of the establishment and the street outside, all the while providing some cover.

Sipping on her beer, it isn't long before Robbie slides into the booth opposite her, shooting her a small grin.

He, too, orders a drink, and before either quite knows what's happening, their stories come spilling out.

The orphanage. The Rising Tide. SHIELD. Ward. Lincoln. Death.

Family. Uncle. Car crash. Demon.

Suddenly she's no longer carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She looks into his dark eyes, and there's understanding and knowing. He can't judge her any more than she can him.

She kisses him that night. It's late, a handful of stars making it through the light pollution, and the bar is being emptied. But she presses up on her toes and holds the lapels of his jacket and kisses him. It's not romantic, sweet, and slow as it had been with Lincoln. His lips are chapped and his breath is sour with alcohol. But so is hers, and she can't bring herself to care.

This is the first time she's felt understood and cared for since Lincoln. She wants to feel regret, cold and deep, for doing this, but she only feels peace.

She likes to think he's smiling down on her, up there in the sky, knowing that even if it can't be him holding her at least she will be safe.

* * *

They take his car, the one she'd heard on that very first night she'd seen him, and she slides into the passenger seat with a small smile. This wasn't how their night was supposed to end, but she supposes it's as good as any. His fingers find her across the middle console, lacing them together, and he plants a kiss on her hand before taking the wheel.

It's not long before they're in the room she first awakened to, the one with him by her side. She lays down and he hovers over her, still lightly kissing her, his hands twined with hers.

Robbie pulls back a moment later, his eyes lit by the thin stripe of moonlight from the window, and breathes out: "I've never done this,"

She feels something inside her twinge, and she squeezes his hands a bit more tightly. "Don't worry, I'll show you,"

* * *

Her mind tells her to leave, but the part of her that aches for companionship tells her otherwise. So she remains in bed, his arms wrapped around her, and watches the sun rise through the curtains.

When Robbie awakens, his leans forward to kiss her shoulder blade, and she rolls to smile at him.

"Good morning," she breathes, raising her eyebrows for a moment.

He grins boyishly. "Buenos días,"

A corner of her mouth tugs up. "Really?"

Robbie chuckles, ducking in to press a quick kiss to her mouth. "I thought it was sexy to speak Spanish in bed?"

She can't resist laughing at that, leaning forward to knock her forehead into his shoulder. "You're a dork,"

* * *

Daisy thinks of Lincoln all through breakfast.

She thinks of his confidence, of his boyish grins and playful jokes. It's such a contrast to Robbie, who has quite the background in flirtation, but is nonetheless sweet and a bit clueless when it comes to certain areas.

Lincoln would have made waffles. Robbie insists on walking to the Mexican market to return with sweet breads. It should hurt to be doing all of this with someone else, with someone so different. But it doesn't. Somewhere in her heart, she's made peace with the fact that though she will always love him, it can't hurt to be somewhat content with someone else.

* * *

Daisy takes a leave around lunch, hesitating before kissing him quickly on the corner of his mouth and darting out the door. The bar isn't far; just a block or two away. Her car still sits in the lot, and she unlocks it before hopping in.

A smile creeps across her face as she thinks for a moment of the night before, but then she shifts the car into drive, and she's off again.

Their night turns into two, then three.

* * *

For two people who don't even have each other's phone numbers, they bump into each other fairly often. Sometimes it's easy. She kisses him, he kisses her. Other times they don't have the luxury. Before they have much of a chance, one suspect is running one way, the other another. And sometimes SHIELD is too close for her stop.

Their lives continue on, woven with stolen kisses and single nights. It's not quite a romance, but they both know it's not quite a shag either. There's feelings there, but that's overwhelmed by the need to be understood and comforted. The need to feel loved.

* * *

Two months later, she doesn't leave.

He doesn't mention it when she casually asks if he has anything planned for dinner, and when he responds in the negative, proposes cooking for him. Robbie's eyebrows raise, but he shrugs and acquiesces.

Daisy being in charge of dinner means, quite simply, Kraft Mac and Cheese. She thinks she catches him snickering, but he's quiet once she turns around.

They curl up in bed later, simple as that. He clutched her close, face buried in her now cropped hair. It's shorter than when they had first met, and now her natural color is beginning to shine through the black dye. He likes it better this way. She doesn't seem quite so lost any more.

She falls asleep listening to the thump of his heart beat.

Daisy doesn't love him, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have feelings.

* * *

The days pass by. The nights get longer and the days shorter. Her van sits unused in Robbie's garage's yard. Her shirts hang alongside his. It's painfully normal, something she hasn't had in well over a year.

But then the cosmos decides differently. With one simple sweep, it turns normalcy into something new.

It's replaced with Daisy sitting quietly in his bedroom - now theirs - holding a pregnancy test. She runs her fingers over the plastic backing, suddenly wishing Simmons or Elena or _someone_ were here with her. That's how it happens in all the movies, right? The friend, the voice of reason, by the girl's side.

But no. Daisy Johnson left all of that behind the day she left SHIELD.

So instead she thinks of Robbie. She wonders what he would be doing right now, whether it's holding her hand or pacing nervously.

She thinks of Lincoln. Of the number of times she's thought of this, of the thought of a tiny baby that they can call their own. It had only been but a fantasy. Deep down, she had accepted that that would never be a life she could live. That _they_ could never live.

Daisy doesn't cry when the timer on her phone pings and the window reads her fears. She doesn't feel . . . Anything, really, and she feels that she should. There's a little thing growing in her that just might one day call her mom. What kind of person is she if she doesn't cry, or laugh, or panic? God, she would give anything in that moment to feel something. To have a gut instinct.

Instead, she simply feels . . . affirmed. Her fear over the past week had been recognized and confirmed. It leaves a hollow feeling in her stomach.

Robbie gets home two hours later.

Daisy glances up from where she'd been trying to learn to cut fries, and offers him a weak smile. He grins back, dropping a kiss on top of her head as he walks by to rinse out his coffee mug from the morning.

She waits until the faucet is running, taking a deep breath, and then -

"I'm pregnant,"

There's no sharp intake of breath, no clattering of fallen drink ware. Instead, the water keeps running, and when she turns around, she sees him peering out the window. His brow is furrowed, as if he's deep in thought, which she supposes he is considering the bomb shell she just dropped on him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah,"

She bites her lip, silently begging him to turn around. Perhaps he hears her, as he turns around. He clears his throat, shutting off the water and drying his hands on a dish rag. Quietly, he leans against the counter.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his deep eyes dark with concern. His hands fidget against the counter.

Daisy bites her lip, nodding. "I'm-I'm fine, all things considered," she sighs. "Just a bit, well, confused,"

He swallows tightly, eyes welling. "I'm sorry, Dais - I'm so sorry, I thought I was careful -"

"Robbie," she butts in, holding in a laugh. "I'm not going to say it's fine - there's a fucking _baby_ inside me - but . . . " she shrugs. "There's not much we can do now, y'know?"

Robbie runs a hand over his face tiredly. "Well, not _nothing_ , but . . . Whatever you do, I support you."

"I can't - I couldn't do that," she says, nearly a whisper. She averts her eyes to the floor. "The . . . The nuns, at the orphanage, they used to say everything is a gift from God. I don't - don't think I quite believe in a god. Not like that, anyways. But I think they have a point - everything in life is a gift." Her throat tightens. "SHIELD, Lincoln . . . you. You've all been gifts in a life I don't deserve and this baby is - is -"

Robbie lurches forward, wrapping her tightly in his arms. He gently places a kiss on her head, squeezing her arms reassuringly. "Okay. It's going to be okay,"

She looks up at him, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. "You mean it?"

"Of course," he answers in an instant. "What is it your friend once said? 'I'm going to be beside you the whole ride?'"

She chuckles wetly. "The whole damn time,"

"Yeah, that," she can feel his grin against her scalp. "I'm going to be beside you two the whole damn time,"

* * *

And with that, they begin a new sort of life.

Daisy doesn't go out any longer. Between worry from Robbie and her own concern, she's decided Quake will have to wait.

Her life changes to being some semblance of a girlfriend. She's always hated that word with a passion. It seems too simple to encompass what she feels; too basic.

She'd felt this way since before Lincoln. But now, it seemed to carry a whole new weight. There was a little baby that one day might call her mom, and Robbie dad, and somehow that sent her stomach fluttering more than it should.

Lincoln is always in her thoughts now. It's not always at the forefront of her thoughts; more like a throb, like a heartbeat. She's made peace with the fact she'll never truly forget him. She likes to think, again, like that very first night, that he's up there.

Simmons had always spoken of energy and thermodynamics. Daisy didn't understand much of it, but she understood the sentiment. All of the little bits and pieces that made up Lincoln Campbell weren't gone. They just had a new form, a second life. Perhaps some of those atoms had even made their way to her - to her child. It was all wishful thinking, really, but again Simmons always did have a softness for beautiful things.

* * *

And Robbie . . . well, she didn't love him. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

"What are we going to do when they're born?" she asks quietly in the morning shade of the single leafy tree in their yard.

Robbie looks up from the chains he's polishing, wiping his fingers on a rag. "What do you mean?"

Daisy sighs. "I mean . . . We can't go to hospitals, Robbie. I can't, anyways. Every FBI agent in a five hundred square mile radius would be on my ass before I'm fully dilated."

A cringe washes over his face, but he nods. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He sets down the length he's been working on to pick up a second, continuing to grease and rub away any rust marks. "Maybe . . . Maybe you go back to SHIELD? They have to at least have medical care."

Daisy scrunches her nose. "You know I can't do that," she picks at a blade of grass, tearing it into smaller pieces like she's done so many times as a child. "They wouldn't . . . They wouldn't understand. I can't do that to him. Them."

He doesn't need to ask to know who he is. She's mentioned Coulson more times that she herself would like to admit. It didn't take him long to put together that the man was something of a father to her.

"Alright," he nods, offering up a lopsided smile. "Well then, I say we just keep looking. We both know they've got a lead on you down here, so why don't we leave?"

Her hand stalls rubbing over her four month pregnant belly, her chocolate eyes wide. "Leave?"

Robbie's cheeks flush. "They're looking for you on the West Coast, right? Well, let's head for the East. New England. No one would expect you out there. It still wouldn't be the safest, but I'd rather that then being by ourselves."

"Robbie . . . " she whispers, eyes welling up. "My god, I can't believe I'm actually considering this."

He chuckles, a breeze blowing by to ruffle up their hair. Daisy spits out a mouthful of hair, which seems to be the perfect length to aim right for her face. Robbie laughs at her. She glares as best as she can with her lopsided part.

* * *

They leave in his Charger at dusk a month later.

Little by little they withdrew as much money as their banks would allow, only aiming to have cash on their journey. Their bags are tossed in the backseat along with bags of snacks and a crate of water.

Daisy watches as LA's lights blur together in the lighting, and before she knows it they've hit the 110 toward Pasadena. She swats Robbie's hand away from the 90's rock and instead slips in her worn Tragic Kingdom CD. Robbie rolls his eyes, but Daisy ignores him.

She's off on a trip. And she has no idea what's waiting for her at the other end.

* * *

Daisy has seen the world from a plane and down the barrel of a gun.

But never has she seen it like this: small towns, cornfields, endless sky, desert, forest - every single tiny insignificant thing.

There's a certain calm that comes from walking in a forest. There's also a certain sadness that comes with memories of cabins, Real SHIELD, and Bobbi. _God,_ she misses Bobbi.

But she pushes these out of her mind. Now is a time to make new memories. Now is a time to pretend to be normal.

They sneak around like teenagers, parking at the side of the road and wandering into nature preserves that shouldn't be explored. They sneak into hotel pools after closing hours. He randomly surprises her with concert tickets.

They're living as she wished she could have when she was young. And something tells her, he is too.

* * *

It's barely edging spring in New York.

Robbie has lived in rough neighborhoods before, but he is still insistent on a safer location than their small apartment in Los Angeles. So as the snow begins to melt and the residents of New York, New York begin to shed their winter layers, the two of them select a tiny apartment in Hell's Kitchen.

It's by no means the safest area. But then it's only for a few months, before they can make the trip back West.

Their apartment is small and quiet, despite the neighbor who seems to come and go at all hours of the night. But it's home, or at least for now, and they make do.

Robbie brings home a bed and Daisy scours second hand shops for a couch. Her old laptop is their TV. There are no pictures or frames to hang on the wall, so Daisy walks to the local Walgreens one day and prints off selfies from their trip.

With the help of a spool of brown yarn she found in a cabinet, the largest wall is soon covered in a large tree sporting photographs. When Robbie sees it, he pulls her into a heated kiss. They don't leave the bed for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Robbie," she whispers one night, rolling over to face him. "I'm scared."

He wasn't sleeping. She can tell from his breathing, which she's catalogued over the past months. _No, year,_ her mind corrects. It's been nearly a full year.

"Of what?" He whispers, smoothing a hand over her hair as he readjusts his position in bed. "We're doing okay, right?" there's a hint of fear in his voice, and she squeezes the hand holding hers a little bit tighter.

"Of course we are," she breathes, looking out the single window. The street is alive with billboard signs and street lights. "But I'm still scared." She rolls over to face him. "We're having a _baby,_ Robbie. A tiny human who won't know how to fend for itself or sit up or -" she chokes on her breath, blinking against the tears in her eyes. "God, what are we doing?"

She hasn't cried yet. Not over anything that matters, anyhow, in her past seven and a half months of being pregnant. It's only now, realizing how screwed up her entire life is, and acknowledging the fears of bringing a child into all this, that she lets herself go.

"It's never going to have a normal life. I mean, sure, we could drop it off at a home or something, but I can't do that. I _can't._ I can't let happen to this little one what happened to me. Let them wonder if their mom or dad really didn't love them enough to keep them. I just . . . I can't." She sucked in a breath. "But if we keep them, what do we do? How do we raise them? Get them into school?"

"I don't know," Robbie spoke after a few moments. "But what I do know is that we're going to figure this out together, alright? I'm never going to leave you. Either of you. We are going to be okay,"

She only sobs harder at that, pressing her face more firmly into his chest, feeling their son or daughter kick out against her belly.

* * *

Daisy's water breaks on the morning of March 18th. Robbie goes into a panic, attempting to lift her downstairs to get to the Charger. But Daisy refuses.

"I'm so close," she tells him, laying on their bed and bracing herself as a contraction rolls itself out. "I'm almost there. Just another few hours and - and I'll be there. I'm too close to risk it, Robbie,"

He sees the pain in her eyes, the worry that someone might recognize her and take their baby away before she ever has the chance to hold them. That everything leading up to these few last hours will be for naught.

He nods, biting his lip, and hands her a glass of water.

Robbie Reyes made a promise. And he's going to keep it.

* * *

There's a banging on the door at about ten the night, and Robbie and Daisy both jump at the sound.

"Bit busy!" He yells in the general area of the door. "Can't come to the door!"

But the knocking persists, and eventually a very pissed off Robbie leaves her side to answer it.

There's a woman at the door with dark skin and hair. A case - it looks medical in origin - hangs at her side. She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Would you by any chance have a woman in labor in here?" she asks cooly. "I have a rather . . . _Vigilant_ friend who says that may be the case."

Robbie very nearly slams the door in her face, but before he can the woman shoves a foot in the crack between the pane and the door.

"Listen, ma'am, I'm having a bit of a -"

"My name's Claire Temple, I'm an ER nurse, and I can help," she cuts him off. "I don't have much midwifery under my belt, but I can certainly assist. From the sound of it, you don't have many other options, so please," she makes a bit of a pushing motion with her arms, and Robbie finally sighs and opens the door.

The woman - Claire - hurries toward the bedroom, setting her case down beside the bed. Daisy looks up at her with wide eyes, almost a bit fearful, but Claire instead takes her hand.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm gonna help, alright?"

Robbie can see near instant recognition in her eyes the moment she lays eyes on Daisy, but nonetheless Daisy herself nods.

Claire turns back toward her kit, pulling out a pair of rubber gloves, all the while mumbling to herself about goddamned vigilantes.

* * *

It's three in the morning when Mae Johnson makes her way into the world screaming and red faced. Daisy collapses back into bed.

Claire tidies up while Robbie is left holding his daughter. She's tiny and a bit slimy, but nonetheless he holds the squirming pink body to his own chest.

A smile comes to his face, watching her little jaw move as she settles into a comfier position. His eyes are wet, but it's happy. Because for so long, it's only been him. After Gabe's care had been taken over by his uncle, after cutting those ties unwillingly, after saying goodbye to his parents . . . he feels whole.

* * *

Mae is tiny. This is the first thing Daisy realizes, clutching the tiny bundle of cloth that is in fact her daughter, the little thing she's been carrying around with her for months.

The next is that she has dark wisps of hair, which could belong to her mother or her father. Her eyes are newborn gray, but Daisy can almost see the darker coloring if she squints. Or that's what she tells herself, anyway.

She hugs Claire when it's time for her to leave, but the nurse just smiles. "It's not goodbye yet. I'll be back later to check around,"

And that is how they spend the early hours of their first day as parents, holding each other and their daughter between them in the tiny bed.

Mae grows and grows and smiles and kicks and grows.

* * *

Her parents watch all of this in the two following months. Daisy sometimes takes her for walks, and other times Robbie will take her up on the roof for some quiet.

And all through this, Daisy is happy. Genuinely happy for the first time in months, perhaps years. She feels complete.

* * *

Daisy doesn't yet love Robbie Reyes, but she knows she could learn to.

* * *

It's late one night, with Robbie gently rocking Mae to sleep in his arms, when she finds it.

She's been searching for months for this, this single lead, and in that moment she knows.

Sometimes happiness has to be kept from people for the greater good.

* * *

The Watchdogs were always a threat. While mainly based in LA, they had quite the reach all over the world. This was no exception.

The organization had gotten their hands on bombs. Not the small ones, but rather military grade missiles. Their aim was to bomb landmarks and, in their traditional style, blame it on the Inhuman population.

Her stomach turned, looking over the pieces of information she'd collected. But regardless, she knew what she had to do.

* * *

Daisy Johnson has never been a fan of writing.

But now she sits in a hotel writing the hardest thing she's ever had to write.

Leaving your three month old daughter with friends is difficult. Leaving your three month old daughter with friends all the while knowing that you won't be coming back is even worse.

So she writes, and as she does, knows that she will be her daughter's last link to her.

Robbie breaks down when she tells him. But even he sees it. This is the only way to save hundreds if not thousands of lives. But it's all at the cost of her own.

Or at least her own life. Robbie, on the other hand, she has her suspicions about. If the demon inside him has resurrected him once, what's to say it ain't do it again? For all she knows, he's immortal.

So she skips over his name, knowing full well that even if he manages to make it back, she won't. But perhaps this little measure will give him a fresh start, off SHIELD's radar, with the chance to start anew.

* * *

They kiss their daughter goodbye.

* * *

There's a flaming ring before her, created by a machine the Watchdogs had in their stash. There is nothing but black beyond it.

The building is coming down on top of them. There are screams of men trapped under rubble and dying. They had succeeded in their mission.

There's no way out, and they both know it. A chunk of the ceiling had already come down on the one exit in this room. They're trapped.

But now there's a fiery portal before them, and it may lead to death, or it may lead to freedom.

She can see the flames reflected in Robbie's eyes, a bright contrast to the darkness of his irises. They're wet with unshed tears.

His hand takes hers, grabbing tight fiercely, and she resists the urge to cry.

So many things are rushing through her head right now. The first day on board the BUS. Laughing with FitzSimmons in the common area. Ward. Holding Jemma tight as a Fitz lays in a coma.

She sees the inhuman temple closing down, the husk creeping around her eyes. She sees Lincoln for the first time, remembers their first kiss, their first date. She remember them.

And Robbie. Meeting him, being taken care of, messy dinners and nights at the bar, kissing him under a polluted sky and riding next to him on a road trip.

And Mae. Her tiny toes, gummy smile, and dark eyes. Her tinkling giggle. Holding her for the first time. Holding her for the last time.

These are all things that flash before her eyes, but then it all breaks through to Robbie, standing there next to her at the very end.

"Ready?" he whispers, but it's like a gunshot in the silence.

"Of course," she smiles, tears beginning to fall. She sniffs, but her sad smile remains.

As they step forward, she whispers one final phrase.

"I love you,"

It's probably too late, and he'll never quite know how much he means to her, but she swears in that instant she hears him, too.

She steps forward into the darkness, and lets it take her into the unknown.

* * *

 **This has been a hell of a ride. I haven't written non-FitzSimmons fanfic in forever, and I was TERRIFIED to see how this all turned out. I think Robbie turned out alright, but his character was hard. Please let me know what you think.**

 **I feel I should add that I love QuakeRider, despite the fact it's hard to write and I would also be fine with the two of them staying friends in canon. It's just been a while since I got to see someone of Latino descent, like myself, on the screen, and it was a lot of fun. Don't get me wrong, I adore Elena, but it's a bit different seeing someone who grew up in the LA area like myself. I'm happy, don't drag me down ;)**

 **I'd love a review. This is hands down the longest single chapter I've written and I'm super scared it wasn't good. Please, let me know.**


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